


revenant

by toromeo (ald0us)



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: 3x01 spoilers, M/M, absolute mindfuckery, did I mention mindfuckery?, suicidal ideation via Metaphor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 11:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14042823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ald0us/pseuds/toromeo
Summary: It isn’t the first time Jace sees Sebastian in a dream.





	revenant

**Author's Note:**

> this is probably inane edgy drivel but did that stop me? no
> 
> enjoy?

Jace wakes up.  
  
The first thing he’s aware of is the chill of the Institute’s air on his bare skin, the press of pillows against the back of his neck. Next, the heavy weight beside him, radiating heat. It’s still dark, and he can’t see her in the dim light, the heavy curtains block out the light. Banishing his trepidation, he breathes in her scent—some citrusy soap Izzy gave her as a present—and freezes.  
  
This isn’t Clary’s smell. This isn’t her weight. The smell is deeper, darker, like the smoke from a bonfire mixed with a tinge of gasoline.  
  
Jace doesn’t hesitate. In one fluid motion he’s rolled over and seized the dagger off his bedside table; in another he’s driven it into Jonathan’s chest. He feels resistance to the blade, tangible, the slick slide of steel through sinews and bone. It feels so real. It _is_ so real. What if—what if it wasn’t Jonathan, what if it was Clary, what if he’d just—  
      
He hears a spluttering sound and his heart seizes. Within seconds, the harsh, ragged sound has turned to a soft, insidious chuckle. “Don’t worry,” Jonathan’s voice says, and Jace can feel the tickle of his breath on the shell of his ear. It sends a shiver down his spine. He does not move. “My precious sister left a few moments ago. You should be more careful with knives in bed, though.”  
  
A shift, a whisper of sheets; a cold but very human hand finds Jace’s and guides him to the hilt of his dagger, curling his fingers around it and pulling it slowly free with a slick sound. Jace can barely see the outline of him, feel the brush of his own hand against Jonathan’s bare chest, the warm blood on their hands. His fingers feel numb; what if this is all a lie, what if this is Clary, what if—  
  
“Stop thinking about her,” Jonathan’s voice says, and it’s suddenly sharp. “It’s sickening. Tripping around each other like lovesick lovebirds, keeping your little lovers’ secrets. No one would accept you if they knew what you could do. No one will accept you when they know what you’ve done. Compelling the angel Raziel of a wish—“  
  
“Go away,” Jace says, and his voice sounds rough even to his own ears, as if he’d been screaming. The hand around his tightens. “I know you’re not real. I know you’re dead. I fucking killed you myself.”  
  
Weight on the mattress shifts and Jace feels heat and wetness on his mouth. He jerks away but Jonathan’s grip is steel and Jace feels his lips part, Jonathan’s black blood painting his heaving chest as he let Jace explore his very real and very warm and silky mouth with his tongue. His body is whole and solid, skin soft and Jace can feel every bump of his ribs, the vertebrae of his spine.  
  
Jonathan’s teeth graze Jace’s lip and bite down, hard, until he’s drawn blood. Jace stifles a sound, not from the pain but not quite absent of it either. Copper gushes into their mouths and Jonathan groans, low and deep, and the sound reverberates between them like a shared current.  
  
“Is that real enough for you, Jace?” Jonathan breathes, and fuck, the smell of fire is overwhelming now, Jace’s eyes stinging as with the smoke of brimstone. He can’t see his eyes, only the vague outlines of his body, but he knows if he could they’d be glossy, demonic black.  
  
“I killed you,” Jace says, and his voice comes out surprisingly firm. It’s unnerving, not quite being able to see him, but feel the weight of him, the faint heat, the sounds of his breathing, the slow drip of his blood. “And I’d do it again.”  
  
Jonathan makes a thoughtful sound, and for a moment Jace imagines he can see his dark  eyes glitter in the inky darkness. “I don’t think so. Now that you know. Father wouldn’t come back for either of us. Jocelyn wanted us dead. So does Clary. She’s no different.”  
  
“There is no us!” Jace growls. He surges forward and thrusts his shoulder into Jonathan’s chest, throwing him off, fumbling for the dagger in the dark. His hand closes around the hilt, but he doesn’t attack. He’s breathing hard and the urge to _kill_ is so strong, and it’s only the strength of the urge that holds him back.  
  
“Two sides of the same experiment,” Jonathan replies, and Jace twists around, hearing the sound from behind him. “You read father’s journals. We belong together. We complete each other.” His hand curls around Jace’s wrist, firm but not too tight. There’s real urgency in his voice when he says, “I need you, Jace.”  
  
“You’re dead,” Jace whispers, and there’s a hollow ache in his chest where his heart should be. “I can’t help you.”  
  
_I’m sorry_ , he wants to say, but the words are stuck in his throat. It’s like talking to a fragmented part of his own soul, the dark, malformed part of him that never escaped his father’s expectant grip.  
  
“You loved him,” Jonathan says, and his voice is almost gentle. There is no doubt who he’s talking about. His fingers curl under Jace’s jaw, as if cradling him in his hands. “And he stabbed you in the heart. Just like you did to me.”  
  
Jace does not resist as he shifts closer—it makes no sense to shy away from a ghost. Herondales can see ghosts—that’s what they always said. And it made sense that there were things tying Jonathan to the world.  
  
Jonathan does not feel like a ghost when he put his arms around Jace and pulls him in close.  
  
“And yet I love you, too,” Jonathan says, his voice muffled by Jace’s shoulder, and there it is again, that dull ache in his chest where someone not nearly as hard, as unnatural, as loveless as he would feel. “We’ll be together soon, Jace, I promise. We’ll be one.”  
  
Jace swallows, hard, letting the urge wash over him, the urge to die, to kill. It dissipates as Jonathan does around him. With shaky hands, he fumbles for the lamp, looks over the room. Shadows slink behind the dark furniture but there is no Jonathan, and there is no blood.  
  
Tied to the earth—he had ties, too, and he is living. His ties are his family, Clary—he won’t let his ghosts drag him down. He can’t.  
  
Sucking in a deep, shaky breath, Jace lets his eyes drift shut and resolves to live.

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be pwp but then angst took over, story of my life tbqh


End file.
